


Firsts

by esteoflorien



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Mirandy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteoflorien/pseuds/esteoflorien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five firsts for Miranda & Andy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firsts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beforeyouspeak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforeyouspeak/gifts).



**I. _First Conversation_**

She had never spoken to an assistant quite like she had ever spoken to Andrea. It couldn’t all be her fault, of course: the others would never have answered her quite like Andrea had. And yet, they had never had a true conversation, or at least not one that anyone would have ever recognized as such, for all that Miranda  _spoke_ more to Andrea than she did to anyone else.

“Good morning, Miranda,” Andrea said, on cue, with the same inflection she used every other morning.  _Runway_ had changed her, far beyond her fashion sense.

“Sit down, Andrea,” she said. It shouldn’t surprise her, Miranda considered; after all,  _Runway_ – even the promise of  _Runway_ , when the editorship was little more than a dream, and she was nothing more than a girl with a subscription – had changed her.

Andrea fumbled with her notebook. That too was an affectation, but at least this one, the black journalist’s Moleskine, was one she had brought with her to New York. “We received the proofs of Gwyneth’s shoot from Patrick today,” she began. “Nigel’s already been up; he likes some but not all – “

“Andrea,” Miranda interrupted, pulling off her glasses. “How was your weekend?” 

**II. _First Confidence_**

Discussing their respective weekends had become habit by the morning Andrea stumbled into work after Miranda, looking utterly bedraggled.

“Please tell me you’re not harboring a contagious parasite.”

Andrea laughed. She had, much to Miranda’s delight, managed to acquire a sense of humor thanks to these exchanges. “I broke up with my boyfriend.”

 _Thank god_ , Miranda thought silently. She had learned, rather early on in this tentative camaraderie, that one was often best served by a bit of judicious editing. “I’m sorry to hear that.” And the occasional white lie.

“No, you’re not,” Andrea said. “You thought Nate was a callous jerk.”

 “That doesn’t mean I’m not sorry that he hurt you, which he clearly has.”

 “It just became pretty obvious that Nate and I weren’t ever going to work out,” she said.

“That’s rather definitive,” Miranda ventured, resisting the urge to check her watch. It was odd, how tentative she’d become in some situations. She wondered if Andrea had noticed.

“Believe me,” Andrea said. “It was over.” She pushed her sunglasses up through her bangs, and Miranda didn’t have the heart to reproach her. “Thank you,” Andrea murmured, and it was the most genuine thing Miranda had ever heard.   

**III. _First Flirtation_**

“You look lovely today,” Miranda said, without thinking. She couldn’t place when Andrea had shifted from _acceptable_  to  _lovely_ , but it had nothing to do with Nigel’s long-ago makeover.

“Thank you,” Andrea replied, her voice touched with surprise. She smiled broadly.

“I mean the outfit,” Miranda added. It was unnecessary, and she regretted it the second Andrea’s smile dimmed.

“I just shopped the Closet,” Andrea said after a moment, and they both laughed. It was a silly joke, but one Andrea made every so often, and which never failed to make them laugh.  _Mom, you have inside jokes!_  the twins would exclaim, speaking as one. It gave her a small measure of pride to have an ‘inside joke,’ to have a secret, however utterly banal, that she shared with only one other.

“You look lovely,” she repeated, and Andrea beamed like the sun.

“You know,” Andrea remarked as the car pulled up to the townhouse. “I love that color on you.” She was wearing aquamarine silk, a string of baroque pearls at her neck.

“Thank you, Andrea,” Miranda said. How silly, that such a little comment could warm her through.

“Beautiful,” Andrea returned, and hopped out to open her door. 

**IV. _First ‘Date’_**

“Look,” Andrea said, “I know this probably sounds ridiculous, but I - ”

“I don’t think you sound ridiculous, Andrea. You’re hardly the first woman to realize she’s interested in men and women.”

“You’re not hearing what I’m saying,” Andrea said. It wasn’t the first time frustration had crept into her voice, but it was the first time that Miranda felt as if she’d utterly lost control of the conversation.

“Then tell me a different way.”

“What I’m saying is that Nate and I couldn’t work because I don’t think I like men.”

“Okay,” Miranda said. It was a bit surreal, having this conversation, but she found it far less so than she would have thought not even a year ago. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it!” Andrea exclaimed.

“Good,” Miranda said.

The car stopped short for a group of wandering tourists. Andrea peered through the window at them.

“I was attracted to someone else.”

“Oh?”                                                       

Andrea pursed her lips and reached for her hand. “I’m talking about you.”

“Oh,” Miranda said. She felt lightheaded, dizzy.

“I’m sorry,” Andrea said, quickly, her voice flat.

“I’m honored,” Miranda said, and laid her hand atop Andrea’s.  

**V. _First Kiss_**

Adjusting to the idea of a woman’s love took far less time and effort than Miranda would have ever imagined. Andrea was beautiful; she was not blind to that. And while it had never previously occurred to her to find a woman attractive because of her beauty, it was natural, now.

“It’s because you  _like_ me,” Andrea said pointedly, one afternoon when she’d raised the subject over lunch. “You like so few people, I’m sure it’s a novel feeling.”

Miranda had laughed, and so had the girls. They’d taken to Andrea as she’d known they would.  Andrea doted on them and showered them with as much attention and affection as possible.

“Miranda, I have no intention of being the evil stepmother,” Andrea declared, and Miranda’s heart clenched at the ease with which she said it, at the welcome naturalness of it.

And there had been, on one of the evenings where it was so hard to send her home, no need to adjust  to the softness of Andrea’s lips against her own, to the way she cupped her cheek and cradled her waist and made her feel, for the first time in her life, as if she were truly home. 


End file.
